


Sun Versus Moon

by Saeva



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Experimental Style, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Runaway Harry Potter, The Author Regrets Nothing, Various background characters - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva/pseuds/Saeva
Summary: Dark acts rarely come from nowhere. This is the story of Harry Potter's somewhere.





	Sun Versus Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/gifts).



**17**

My heart beat faster than it had in ages, maybe since I’d been twelve and felt outmatched -- been outmatched -- but hissed threateningly regardless. A tiger, even one dressed in snake-lined robes, can’t change its nature. I couldn’t then, when I met him, and I couldn’t now, when I’d brought Mars… and war… on us by one public, brutal act of violence. Some would revolt, later, when they escaped the Hall. I knew that, had known that before I ripped a gash across an old man’s chest. Ripped and ripped until he slipped in blood, surprised to the very end that I wasn’t his to sacrifice after all. 

Yes, the book had been one thing, the start of the thing, but this? Something else entirely and enough to fuel a hundred Patronuses. I smiled, saw Hermione’s glare at me or my lack of caution or both. She’d get over it; she’d already picked a side and it hadn’t bled to death over dinner.

But still my heart beat so fast I swallowed against my pulse even when I couldn’t help grinning over the corpse at my feet and even the fear in all the eyes across the hall. Power, in a sense. I did wear snake-lined robes, after all. 

Then, a pulse, a stronger beat to my heart and I knew he stood behind me, pushing through the wards of Hogwarts, appearing like, well, magic. It made me laugh and some brave, foolish soul cursed my name then threw a real curse at me. I dodged away from it, into Mars’ arms even as his wand rose and struck the Gryffindor down. Everyone fell silent. 

… Save him. He looked down at the body bled out on the teachers’ platform in the Great Hall, raised an eyebrow, and sighed, “What happened to discretion?” 

I smiled innocently, holding a wand with blood drying on it up for him to see. “I saw an opportunity and you did want…” My voice dropped so that even in the echo-y hall only he heard me… “to be immortal, didn’t you then?” 

“Oh, don’t give that face. You’re getting blood on your shoes and I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with you.” 

“Keep me, of course.” 

That drew a smile for me, brilliant on a face I thought almost painfully handsome.”Of course I’m keeping you. You’ve been mine since you were twelve years old.” He pulled me tighter into his arms and watched the teachers, who’d fallen back after my abrupt ending of the Greeting Feast. He smiled at them, politely, charming. “I suppose we should start with introductions then, professors. My name is Marvolo Slytherin and it seems my husband’s made a bit of a mess.”

 

**16**

“Have you gone mad?” Hermione’s voice hissed by the end, low but full of panic. 

When I laughed she looked right to slap me one and I edged a step away, towards Theo and Luna. But a glance at them saw the taller boy paler than usual, his mouth set in a line. “Don’t look at me. I agree with her.” 

“This is why I didn’t tell you lot his history,” I said, sighing as I sat down on a flat boulder by the lake. We’d already warded against visitors and curious ears so I relaxed, despite my mates winding as they did. “Mars is… no more dangerous than I am.” 

Hermione cocked her head, her bright, intelligent brown eyes searching me. “You mean that.” 

Theo hissed a breath in between his teeth, his eyes widening. “You can’t mean that. I’ve heard stori --” 

“Of a different man, who went mad. We killed him. We made certain he’d never return.” I sighed, “Don’t look at me like that. The man was mad and set on my death. Mars is neither and I’m not mad.” At Hermione, I said, “I’m not.”

“No, only impulsive enough to rival a Gryffindor, Harry.” 

“You are a Gryffindor last time I checked.”

“And you’re a survivor who wants us to survive too.” A tinge of sadness touched Luna’s voice but mostly she sounded absent, thinking. Her next words brought her to the present. “Did he Vow not to hurt us, Harry? Is that something you did?” 

I laughed then. “Of course. I’m not stupid either. I’ll have you know I’ve done plenty of plotting. I can handle Mars.”

 

**15**

“Where did you get this information?” Mars demanded, his eyes still on the book like it might be a viper. No, worse. He could _control_ a viper. 

“Blackmailed a good source to do something that will get her a lot of money?” I suggested airly, smiling. “Come on. Don’t tell me you don’t like your birthday present.” He glared at me, using his five inches of extra height as a weapon of intimidation. I kept smiling. “It’ll be everywhere by the time I go back to Hogwarts. It. Will. Destroy. Him.” 

He dropped the book down with a heavy thud, the cover flashing eye-catchingly fast at me, each flicker a new word. 

The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore by Anonymous. 

_My_ line in the sand. My gauntlet thrown. The book would destroy his reputation and then, and only then, would I take his life. I didn’t do revenge halfway. Mars would know that better than anyone.

I pouted, teasing. “You should be a more gracious birthday boy,” 

He fingered his wand and glared. “Do not call me that.” 

“It’s your birthday.” I shrugged. “For the record, I want sex for my next birthday.” 

That drew a smile to his face. “As if I couldn’t guess that.” I wanted sex now but Mars, poor, old-fashioned Marvolo, wouldn’t do a thing about it until I was ‘of a more proper age to consent’. I sighed and he laughed. “This is better than hexing you for the ‘birthday boy’ comment.”

“Tease.”

“Oh, now, I follow through… eventually.’

 

**14**

The portkey slammed me to the ground and I grunted, losing my breath and my handle on the Triwizard trophy. There had to have been a simpler way to do this than win that damn tournament. 

I heard a high pitched voice order, “Secure him,” and rolled before the second syllable was fully out, my instincts and awareness snapping into place over my tiredness. Two life sources. One was the bastardized Voldemort. The other the supposedly dead Crouch Jr., according to Mars. 

My side thumped a headstone -- a graveyard, this was a graveyard -- and my hand squeezed my necklace three times, hard. A pop later and Mars crouched next to me, where I’d rolled and gotten to my knees behind the stone as Crouch threw non-lethal spells at me. I gave the older boy a tired look and he offered back a hand signal. 

**On three,** he hissed, in case I was too dense to understand him holding three fingers up. I rolled my eyes but nodded. 

One. On two I tumbled into a fall-roll, a quick way to pop onto my feet and on three I shot a burst of light at Crouch, blinding him from aiming, and Mars hit him with a quick Cutting Spell across the neck. I was still tired, maybe, because all I could think as the blood spilled down the gaunt man’s chest, onto the not-baby-thing he held in his arms as he collapsed was that arterial blood was darker than I expected it to be. 

The drenched Voldemort screamed in pain -- from the light -- and rage -- from the death of his faithful -- as he tumbled to the ground. “Crucio!” 

I laughed, because it sounded hilarious in that baby voice and it didn’t hit Mars or me. I did a lazy Disarming Jinx at his distraction and his wand flew to me, though Mars snatched it before I could touch it. “Still the perfect match,” he said, shrugging, as the flare of power said the wand bonded with him again. 

I smiled and he smiled back, then turned to the helpless creature before us. “Now, now, what are we going to do with you?” 

My smile widened, wicked sharp. “Nothing that’ll be quick, don’t you worry.” The fear that flashed across his snake-like face made every moment of the tournament worth it. 

 

**13**

I stared at the ragged man before me as he squeezed the rat in his hand tight enough the squeaking stopped. “Let me get this straight. That rat’s a man. This moron’s,” I kicked the unconscious Weasley, mostly because Neville, standing next to me, wouldn’t, “been keeping him as a hand-me-down pet. And now you want to kill the rat, pun intended, even though he’ll prove your innocence if you hand him over instead.” 

That gave Lupin -- standing at Sirius Black’s back, completely gobsmacked as he stared at the rat -- pause. “Sirius, we should turn him in. You won’t be a fugitive anymore. You can take in Harry, like you were meant to all those years ago.’ 

“Oh, no, don’t pull me into this anymore than you already have.” I shouldn’t even have been here except that I saw an apparent dog drag Weasley off and thought it an opportunity to have a chat with him in private. Not that we had privacy now… and I probably shouldn’t have kicked the other boy with witnesses, though, truly, who here would tell? I turned my attention back to Black and sighed. “I’ve a home already. I’ve no need of one from you. I’ve no need of you.” Black looked slapped silly, as if he hadn’t abandoned me first. I went on, “Or, it looks like, you either, Lupin, supposed close friend of my parents. Wolf or not, I needed you. But that was years ago. Neither of you have anything to offer me now.” 

Neville took my arm and said, softly, “Harry.” 

“No. Nev. It’s not like your parents. They didn’t choose to abandon you to the bitch you live with. These two made a choice.” I glanced down at Weasley. “Kill the rat or don’t kill the rat. If you kill him, though, make sure you Obliviate the moron here. He’ll make trouble for us all if you don’t.” 

Deep blue eyes, set in a ravaged -- but once, probably, attractive -- face, stared at me. Now he said, “Harry,” but with regret and longing. The rat squeaked again, no longer suffocating, and Lupin hit it with a silencing spell. “It wasn’t--” He stopped, his eyes squinting in the dim light at the dirty school robes both Nev and I wore. “You’re not a Gryffindor.” 

“Merlin, no. I am much too practical for that. C’mon, Nev, let’s go. No need being accessories. Do the wizards have a law like that?” I pushed Nev toward the door of the shack by walking that way myself. I wanted no part of Pettigrew’s death. 

He was a traitor but if he hadn’t betrayed my parents I wouldn’t have found Mars. I wouldn’t have found a new family so easily.

**12**

“You intend I do what?” The older boy, a seventh year, maybe, or at least an upper year, towered over Harry with a tight-drawn frown. He looked solid now, real enough to touch, almost _real_ if not for the ghostly light around him. 

Harry glanced down at the Weasley girl nervously. “I have something of yours. I think. It feels like you. You needn’t kill her to gain a body.” 

A dark eyebrow went up on the other boy. “What do you care if I kill her? You aren’t friends or even friendly.” 

And he knew that because little, stupid Ginny Weasley had told a soul stealing book all about Harry from her perspective, which was mostly rumor or worse. He huffed. “They’ll close Hogwarts and I haven’t anywhere to go in the magical world.” 

Of course that got through to Tom Riddle, orphan, who narrowed his dark, ocean-deep blue eyes, and picked up the tiara -- no, diadem, a fancy word for tiara -- when Harry held it out. A flicker of surprise crossed pretty features before that blank look came back. If nothing else, Riddle was stupidly fit. Why he hadn’t seduced his way to power instead of start a war Harry couldn’t even guess, though it might have something to do with the “memory” trapped in a diary… and a diadem. 

“And what will you give me if I use this instead of her?” 

Harry clenched his jaw and the older boy smiled, both vicious and handsome all at once. It made Harry’s insides flip but he made himself think. “I’ll owe you one favour.” 

A drawled, “You’ll owe me a large favour,” made his stomach tighten and his thoughts go flat.

He glared. “Yes. Fine. But if you use her and it closes Hogwarts… Someday, and I don’t care how long it’ll take or about you being Voldemort, I will hunt you down and kill you.” 

“Aw, you’ve a bit of bite to you, do you? That’s quite nice. I’ve always liked my pets vicious.” 

“I’m not your pet, Tom.” 

“Do not call me that name.”

Harry took a breath and made himself go calm. They both had wands and the other boy was older. He needed to stop this before it became a fight. “Alright. Mars, then. Marvolo makes it sound like you’re ancient. Do we have a deal?” 

Tom Riddle -- Mars -- laughed and twirled the diadem in his hand thoughtfully. “Go on, take her, be the little hero, Harry Potter.” He snapped a spell out so quick, and silent, Harry couldn’t dodge in time. “A little tracing spell I made. I’ll be seeing you soon.” 

Well, fuck. 

 

**11**

Harry took a deep breath in, staring at a stupid tapestry of a stupid troll-like thing doing something that might be ballet, and squeezed his eyes shut. That was it. This was it. Magic or no, learning or not, he could not take all this being around people who expected to know exactly where he was whenever they wanted for one more minute. He’d scream. 

He paced the corridor, feeling trapped, uncertain if going either way (towards Ravenclaw or Gryffindor) wouldn’t push him over the edge until he exploded, until his magic did too. He was used to being able to be alone if he wanted. Or, if not alone, because there was safety in numbers, somewhere no one bothered him if he didn’t want bothering. He needed that. He needed the freedom and he didn’t have that here. He needed to… he needed to hide. 

A door popped up, between one blink and the next, and he threw himself backwards. Only the tapestry being there cushioned his hit with the far wall. Where the hell had that door come from? 

When no one came through, and especially no one came through looking for him, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. Theo called it his least Slytherin-like trait. Parkinson had more insulting words for it, especially when Harry braved the Gryffindor table to sit with Neville Longbottom, who he’d made a friend of on the train to Hogwarts. This division was bloody stupid. You took allies where you could find them. And Hermione Granger was at that table, offering to be quite useful. 

_That_ was Slytherin, no matter what Parkinson and Malfoy thought. Arses. 

But now the door… It might be too much curiosity. Yet, still, he opened it, peering inside at stacks and stacks of things. A few steps in the door closed behind him, but he was already going through the stacks of weapons and jewels and dirty magazines. Things you want hidden. The room made a place of hidden things for him? 

And now he had a private stash of near anything he could imagine and maybe more. Bloody brilliant. His mouth widened to a smile: he’d start with the books. 

 

**10**

A wizard. No, a famous wizard. Now he knew, after all these years alone, forgotten, abandoned, he knew what he was and where he belonged, why he’d never quite fit in. 

He stared at the book in his hands, glancing up at the stern woman bringing him shopping after tracking him down in London -- and using her magic on him, without even asking, to clean him up from the dirt you got mostly sleeping in little hidey holes you could protect. He hadn’t answered when she asked who he got watching him cause it wasn’t her business. But there also weren’t no answer. 

Wasn’t no answer. One of the men who liked him didn’t like his street talk grammar and insisted he learn more. Doll -- No, Harry now, they were expectin’-- expecting Harry Potter, Boy Who fucking Lived, and not no Doll, he could see that clearly in the not-quite-old woman’s eyes. She hadn’t liked what she’d seen, hadn’t liked how he didn’t fit what she thought she’d find. He could feel that and he always, always trusted his instincts. 

Harry Potter, then. He could do that, for now, for as long as he needed to be, until something else fit better. He slid The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts under The Standard Book of Spells, Grades 1 and 2, and walked to the front of the store, where he could use his money (he had money! Lots of it!) to buy the books for school. He’d need to come back later, change some money to pounds and pick up books on school things he hadn’t worried about in years. 

After all, he was going to a school now, wasn’t he? 

 

**7**

The flames flicked and flared, bright and hot in front of him, burning away as the wood collapsed and the Dursleys burned with it. Burned until they stopped screaming. Burned as a neighbour -- who’d ignored Harry’s bruises and being locked in the shed before this -- pretended concern about what was happened to find it all out first. She’d wanted to be the first to gossip but he hadn’t said a word. Not to her, not to the bobby, not to the not-doctors who looked him over for burns, not to the lady who’d just arrived with a soft voice. 

The new lady offered up a plush toy for him. No one had given him a plushie before, though loads were burning in Dudley’s second bedroom. The plush toy, he liked it. That didn’t mean he’d trust her. He didn’t say anything to her either. 

She said, to the par-a-med-ic, “He must be in shock. Let’s get him bundled up.” Then, to him, “The nice paramedics are going to take you to see a doctor, to see where you’re hurt and get you patched up, alright, Harry?” She must’ve asked a neighbour what his name was. He was sort of surprised any of the neighbours knew it. 

He didn’t say anything but let the paramedic take him, clutching the plushie to his side. It was a bear, soft and black, like his hair was black. When the paramedic tried to strap him to the table he struggled, silent but hard, until another one had to help hold him down. The other one tried to take the plush toy but Harry held it, held hard, breathed hard, and struggled to get away. He wanted away. He wanted them to stop squeezing! He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t, he couldn’t -- The squeezing got so hard he felt dizzy, then he heard a pop and he fell back.

On the ground, on the dark pavement in the night, still holding the plushie. There wasn’t any fire ‘round, no light or noise, but a shop down the lane. Harry didn’t know this street, didn’t think he was still in Little Whinging. This was his power, like the fire had been. It’d saved him, gotten him away. But to where? 

 

**3**

Boy, not yet old enough to remember the name the nice people (his parents) had called him before he came to the dark place, sat in the dark, rocking himself. He should sleep. He was tired. He could hear the screechy woman (Aunt, she said) being not-screechy as she read a night story to the mean, big boy, Dudders. 

Dudders was Aunt’s baby. Boy was rubbish and lucky they took him in, let him sleep in the dark, dusty cupboard. 

He was hungry too. If only he could leave the cupboard, he could sneak in and get food. Some bread. He knew he could. But His Cupboard, the only place safe from the Mean Man (Uncle), who’d held him under the water last week, screaming and screaming a word the Boy didn’t know (Magic, what was Magic?), wouldn’t open. Aunt locked it. She said Bad Boys had to be Locked in. 

But he wasn’t the boy who was mean and took things and hit and screamed. He was a Good Boy. He shouldn’t be Locked in. He stared at the door, thinking about the hunger and the Lock and being a Good Boy and the word Magic, when he felt a shock over his hands, like when he rubbed them on the carpet, and then heard a click. He tried the door and it wasn’t locked now. 

Was that magic? The Mean Man said there was no such thing as Magic but Boy knew the Mean Man said lies. Lies were bad, Aunt said so. Uncle was a Bad Man. 

And it was a lie. There was too a thing like magic. The boy pushed the door open and smiled. 

**1**

Lily Potter loved her husband, she did. She loved him enough to see past his faults to the man he’d become. She loved him enough to have a baby with him during a war. And she even loved him enough to trust their hiding to his mentor and one of his friends, when her better sense said they should take their son and leave the country with their Muggle passports tomorrow. She loved James Potter enough to stay. 

But she loved her son more. 

So, while her husband slept, content in his trust of Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix to keep their son safe, she read until her sight blurred and her head ached. Every night she read, every day she practiced at her work for her Charms mastery but thought about what she read, and every afternoon she hugged her son close before she put him down for a nap, whispering, “Be brave, be strong,” against his forehead like a blessing. She was about to be a Charms Mistress. She knew the power of repetition with magic. 

She also knew her runes because she read at night. She read books she stole (borrowed) from the libraries of James’s purebood friends until she found the right thing. A spell to make you unkillable, at least for a time, a spell that required a ritual, a spell that needed a sacrifice. With her charms and her runes she reworked the spell, and ‘stumbled’ into cutting herself, then insisted it was too minor to bother healing with magic. She noticed the ones that shook their heads at her ‘silly Muggle ways’. 

But the cut stayed visible, James didn’t ask about it -- he’d been there when she got it, after all -- and all the while she used her blood to trace runes beneath the rug that her baby’s crib rested on. One rune at a time, drawing more and more from her until, when the time came, when the monster found them all, she’d drag the last one across her skin and let the monster kill her to finish the ritual. It was Dark magic, found in a tombe even Sirius wouldn’t touch, but she didn’t care. 

Lily Potter loved her son. And if this magic done on him changed him, pushed him towards lightness or darkness or something in between, she didn’t care. She did not care the slightest bit so long as he lived and lived well. 

She hoped, when she was gone and he was safe from the monster, he’d understand. But so long as he was alive, even if it was to hate her, she’d still gotten the better end of the bargain.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Tomarry Halloween 2018 Fic Exchange. Some inspirational credit goes to Athy/Athey, who I think was the first person to shorten Marvolo to Mars. Beta by the lovely NiteLight, who made this a stronger narrative than it otherwise would have been.


End file.
